And then they were touching him. Michael tensed, unsure what to do or say in this totally impossible situation. They murmured gently among themselves, laughing in some foreign language as they eased off his backpack, untied the sweater wrapped around his waist, pulled off his Vikings cap. They began kissing his neck, his chest, his hard nipples as they unbuttoned his cotton shirt and slid it off his shoulders. The blondes ran their uniformly long fingernails down his chest and back as one knelt in front of him, undoing his pants and removing them, dropping sharp kisses on his trembling thighs. Michael lifted his legs, one at a time, blindly. They took off boots and socks and pants, his gaze still focused on the blurring face of the redhead and her brightly shining eyes. Then, with their hands and mouths moving over him, she leaned over... and kissed him, sliding her tongue deep into his mouth. It was then that he collapsed.
Michael came back to consciousness to find himself erect against the aging oak, the rough bark pressed into the tender skin of back and buttocks. His arms had been drawn carefully back and tied with some sort of cord, maybe vines. She was standing in front of him, smiling that bright smile again. He was still dizzy.
“I have a question for you.” she said.”Well, I have a lot of questions for you!” Michael began to bluster. He was suddenly terrifyingly, exilharatingly sure that he would not be seeing his girlfriend, his job, their apartment or her rats again. Now that he had been stripped of his clothing, he felt oddly free to gaze his fill, and his eyes drank in the curves and planes of her body, broken only by a patch of flaming hair.
She seemed to enjoy his gaze, continuing to smile as she watched his eyes watching her. Then she spoke again.
“What do you want?”
Suddenly time seemed to still and thicken so that Michael had all the time he needed to remember: the days of college when he and his friends, self–proclaimed geniuses, would stay up till dawn promising to see the world and taste its women in wide open fields and hot dark rooms; the clarity of nights without sleep as he talked and fucked and laughed with a girl with wide dark eyes who’d left him when once he slept too late; dancing naked in the rain, all alone. But closer was job, cats, safety, overpowering fear, and the love of a woman probably still asleep back home. And now he knew how much he loved her after all, so much more than either of them had ever thought. So that he almost said, ‘to go home’. But he’d gotten too much sleep lately, it seemed.
“You.” he answered, suddenly certain, suddenly sure.
And then she was laughing above him as she reached out and sliced apart the bonds with impossibly sharp fingernails. The women surrounded them, touching them everywhere it seemed as her skin slid against his ready body and she bent to kiss his neck. That was the first and only pain, a sudden sharp tearing though he did not scream as he worshipped her with strong limbs and violent burning thrusts.
Somehow she managed to say just then, “Only that, beloved, for the right answer” before rising to meet him, her red hair falling around him in streams of blood and fire, their long red nails raking down his back. And so Michael rose to ecstasy, fully conscious, fully clear that nothing, nothing could be beyond this.
Hours later, they had long since bathed the last traces away, and they were once again beautiful in the moonlight. The wildness had faded for a while, sated by that long orgy in the sunset splendor of fallen leaves. The blond women were dancing slowly and languorously in the outpouring of the full moon. On Diana’s face was something that on another might be mistaken for regret; but he had been lost from that first moment, after all. And then she joined them in their dance, and it grew wild once again.
Dialogue
The couple lies intertwined. His left hand rests casually on a small right breast; her hands are pressed against a slightly hairy chest. Dim light falls on them through a white–curtained window above the queen–size bed, creating odd shadows in the curve of young bodies.
HE: “What are you thinking?”
SHE: “Nothing much. Why?”
HE: “You have a funny look on your face.”
SHE: “I was just thinking how much I like this.”
HE: “Like what, exactly?”
SHE: “How much I like the feel of your rough hair against the palms of my hands. And my thigh between your legs. And...”
HE: “And?”
SHE: “And your cock pressing against my stomach.”
HE: “You like that?”
SHE: “Yes.”
HE: “Good. What else do you like? What do you want me to do to you?”
She hesitates.
HE: “C’mon... tell me.”
SHE: “I’d really like it if...”
HE: “Yes?”
SHE: “If you started to play with my breast. Not just the nipple... if you took my whole breast in your hand, and squeezed it, and rubbed it. After you do that for a while, it gets so sensitive... then when you touch the nipple, it’s like there’s a current running right through me.”
HE: “And after that?”
SHE: “After that... I’d like you to lower your mouth to it. And take the nipple between your teeth, gently. Play with it. Bite it a little — not too hard. I don’t like it really hard until I’m very aroused. After a while, switch to the other nipple. Alternate between them, and run your tongue and teeth in the hollow between my breasts, and along the side and back of my neck, sucking as you go.”
HE: “And my hands? What should they be doing?”
SHE: “Run your hands along my sides, and once I’m shivering from what you’re doing, rake your nails down my back. Cup my buttocks in your broad palms, and squeeze them. Pull me close to you, so that your cock is pressed hard against me. Perhaps you could slide it between my legs, for a while, so that it’s pressed against my clit. When you rock back and forth like that, it’s almost as good as when you’re inside me.”
HE: “Do you want my fingers in you, rubbing in and out? Two fingers, three? Should we try the whole hand this time? Or would you rather have my mouth on your clit, my tongue tracing circles around it, then sucking it, soft, then hard, running my teeth along it...?”
SHE: “Not this time, I think. I’m too hungry for your cock inside me. When I’m trembling and moaning, roll onto your back and lift me up until you can impale me on your cock. I’ll slide down very very slowly, with your hands on my hips, guiding me. Finally I’ll come to rest against you, and then...”
HE: “Yes?”
SHE: “Then I’d like you to stay very very still. Let me move on you, rubbing back and forth so gently at first... not lifting at all, barely moving.”
HE: “You’re killing me...”
SHE: “Hush. After a little while, I’d go faster, but with that same movement, your cock deep inside me and my clit rubbing against you in that way it only does when I’m riding you. When I start to moan again, I’d like you to take my breasts in my hands again and play with them like you did before. But don’t move otherwise, please. Hold yourself rigid underneath me till I come, and collapse on top of you.”
HE: “Then can I move? Please?”
She laughs.
SHE: “Yes, then you can move. Let me breathe for a moment, then roll us over, so I can feel all of your weight on top of me. Then fuck me, slow at first, then hard and fast, or however you’d like to. Someday, I’d like to be fucked till I faint.”
HE: “I’ll keep that in mind.”
SHE: “I hope...”
HE: “What?”
SHE: “I hope this is what you wanted — I hope I answered your question. I couldn’t say any of this out loud, you know. I hope writing it is good enough...”
Reunion
His shiny black shoes almost glowed in the dingy room. She kept her eyes fixed on them as he ordered. Eggs the way she liked them, sunny–side up, like open eyes. Toast on the side, no jam. Just tea for him. He’d complain about the tea, of course. Why couldn’t they boil the water? How long had they left the tea, already steeped, sitting in the dirty glass pot?
>
She switched her gaze from shoes to plate. Forcing herself to eat slowly. He rattled the way he always did when he was nervous. Clattered the mug down and spilled tea over the sides to be wiped up easily on the red and white checked vinyl tablecloth. They were there for what seemed like hours before he took her arm and pulled her out the door.
The motel was only across the street. Instead, he cut through the fields and she followed. Fields of golden sunflowers, scattered patches of Queen Anne’s lace and bright purple tufted things. Scratchy fields. When she pulled off her dress and lay down on it, she could still feel the stubbly grass and stubborn stones beneath her. Every breeze brought thousands of tiny grasses brushing against her bare body, each stem feeling like skittering insects. She clenched her fingers into the damp soil to hold her there. So she wouldn’t leap up and run naked onto the highway.
When he came, he was crying. Maybe she was too. It was hard to tell with the sun beating down and sweat still dripping down her face and onto his beaky nose. She hushed him with soft kisses. His legs wrapped convulsively around hers, broken promises falling out of his mouth like rain, or tears, or children. Running off into the grass.
Slowly pulses calmed. They slept under a cloak of her mustard hair, her head nestled under his sharp chin.
o0o
Maybe it would be like that. But more likely it wouldn’t. Janie stepped away from the phone once more, to sit in a shrinking pool of sunlight by the window. The brindle cat leapt momentarily into her lap, long enough to leave a jagged gash along her thigh. Janie’s fingers clenched tightly in the space the cat had been. Too late.
Lady
She was trying very hard not to look scared. Scared was dangerous. Scared had gotten her married, gotten her beaten, gotten her raped in her home and on the road. If she’d learned one thing in the last three weeks it was this: sexy was a whole lot more useful than scared.
o0o
It was a short run from La Porte to Champaign, but it was the last run of a long day of contract hauling. Mike was tired and wanted to get some sleep, so he almost didn’t stop for the slim figure in white, holding out a pitiful thumb. The glare of headlights was unforgiving, picking out every detail of tired skin and soiled clothing. But there was still something desirable about those curves, and it wouldn’t be human to expect a lonely man to turn down a shot at them. He pulled over.
“Where ya going?” she called up, hand over her face to shield against the glare.
“Is that anywhere near Chicago?”
Mike shook his head, bewildered. “Lady, where are you coming from?”
“Connecticut. But I lost my map, and my last ride wasn’t going any closer than this. This is the best I could do.” She sounded stubborn. Like she was gonna get to Chicago if she had to go through Austin, San Jose, and St. Paul to do it.
“Well, I’m not going to Chicago, but you’re not likely to get another ride tonight. Why don’t you come to Champaign with me and maybe we can find you someplace to sleep?” Mike smiled at her, the smile that had won over a hundred waitresses from La Porte to Tallahassee.
She didn’t hesitate a minute. As he pushed open the passenger door, she swung a small hand up to the handle and hauled her body inside, landing with a muffled thump on the padded seats. He’d gotten them covered in fake fur a couple of years ago. They were starting to wear through, but they were still a whole lot kinder to bare skin than the original vinyl.
She had nothing with her. No purse, no backpack. Mike had picked up a lot of hitchhikers in his time, and every single one of them, no matter how down and out she looked, had something to carry that last photo, that small hoard of cash. Judging by the tightness of her jeans, this lady wasn’t hiding much of anything in them either.
She swung the door closed, and settled back with a deep sigh. Mike glanced over at her. In the gentle moonlight she looked a whole lot better. Soft curves were outlined under a thin lace top, curves shielded only by a fall of pale wheat hair. Not quite your typical blue–eyed blond, though. Her eyes were ice blue, her skin ghost–pale. She looked like she’d blow away in the lightest breeze, or melt in a summer storm.
“What’s your name, lady?”
She stiffened. “I’d rather not tell you. Do you need a name? “
The lady suddenly looked almost dangerous. Cornered. Terrified.
“Nah, that’s okay. Although you could have made something up and I would’ve believed you. How ’bout I just call you ‘lady’?”
She laughed softly, relaxing again. “That’s fine.” Mike glanced over to catch that smile, and suddenly realized that she wasn’t really relaxed. Her hands were clenched into tight balls, her fingers digging into sweaty palms. She lifted her head, watching him watching her. She smiled. Mike’s breath caught at the sexiness in that smile. Suddenly he didn’t want to start the truck again. He wanted nothing more than to peel off those tight jeans, and shred that lace top.
He wanted to dig his fingers into those soft breasts, to squeeze the hard nipples he could see stretching the fabric. Funny how after so many women the curve of a full breast could still drive him crazy. If he didn’t start moving soon, he’d take her right now. Mike preferred his women willing, though, and this one still looked scared. Maybe in a couple of hours she’d be a little more willing. Maybe in a couple of hours, he wouldn’t be quite so patient.
Mike took a deep breath and started the truck again, heading back onto the highway, going west. She was silent beside him for a long time, maybe an hour or so till they hit I–57 and started heading south. The moon hid behind a cloud and the only light was from Indiana stars. Then suddenly she started talking, opening her mouth and letting the words pour out.
The lady told him why she ran, the man behind the story. Mike listened to her dry–eyed, making the appropriate noises. It was a story to break a heart, if you’d never heard one like it before. Unfortunately, too many of the waitresses told the same tale.
She was beautiful in pain, thin and drawn taut under the tension. As they pulled into a deserted rest stop, half an hour from Champaign, she had just finished telling him about her journey. The truckers who’d offered her a ride in exchange for a bed. The ride before last had taken her bag, her money, her clothes.
She might have died that night if a hooker hadn’t taken pity on her and given her something to wear. Naked women didn’t last long on the streets. The flood of words dried to a trickle, then a halt, in pace with the motion of the truck.
“You’re beautiful.” he told her. It was a line that had worked many times before, perhaps because he meant it every time. All Mike wanted was to treat her gently, to kiss away those lines on her forehead. He wanted to taste the salt at the back of her neck, to give her pleasure she had never known. Mike wanted to run his hands down her long limbs, to tilt the soft seat back as far as it would go, and go down on her until she screamed. To treat the lady better some of the bastards on the road.
The line worked this time too, it seemed. Her body softened, lips tilting up to smile at him, to beg for a kiss. She closed her eyes then. Mike leaned across to her — only then did he notice the hands still clenched, fingernails digging bruised crescents into her palms. At that moment, he knew what else she’d gotten from the hooker; she’d learned how to convince the johns that she was enjoying what they did to her. And, being such a lady, she’d learned to do it with grace. Mike pulled away abruptly, painfully.
“I gotta go. There’s a ladies’ room in back.” Mike said, as he swung down out of the cab.
When he came back, she was still sitting there, looking slightly stunned, slightly scared.
“Hey, listen —” he said as he gunned the engine, “I gotta friend who lives in Champaign; runs a trinket shop in the plaza there. She’s a little crazy, and doesn’t answer to her real name anymore, but she’s a good kid. Why don’t you stay with her tonight? You oughta be able to find someone going up to Chicago in the morning.”
“That... sounds good,” the lady replied
hesitantly.
“Do you have somebody to stay with up there?” Mike asked.
She still looked surprised, and her eyes were dead, but there was a bit of a smile in her voice as she said, “Yes, actually. A girlfriend from high school, working on the South Side now.”
“Good,” Michael said. He started whistling then, some tune he didn’t remember the words to. She didn’t say anything and he didn’t stop whistling until they pulled into the driveway of a large house at four am. He left her there at the door, his friend small and sleepy–eyed beside the lady.
You’ll Understand When You’re Older, Dear
Have you ever been in love?
Really in love?
I mean the fairy–tale kind,
with blue skies and never lies,
perfect skin and angel eyes,
and the only argument
is over who loves whom
more?
Me neither.
Have you ever been fucked?
Really fucked?
Bang your head against the
metal bedpost — never notice,
soft sheets or concrete–
makes no difference,
screaming something and if
it’s the wrong name who
fucking gives a damn
god yes,
fucked?
Yeah.
Some days, you take what you can get.
Some day, maybe you’ll be glad of it.
Feather
There was an angel on my bed. Really. An incandescent, feathery white–winged, ten–foot–tall angel. Don’t ask how it got there. I don’t even go to Mass. In any case, no nun I ever talked to mentioned the possibility of multiply–gendered, stark naked holy visitations. Not even the saints got naked angels.
Torn Shapes of Desire Page 5
